


Atonement

by lesbianryuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Before the Post-Timeskip Battle at Gronder Field (Fire Emblem), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dreams and Nightmares, Feral Dimitri Has a Moment of Clarity, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: Before Dimitri begins to atone in real life—before he even thinks to try—he is given a chance in his dreams.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Nagamas Gifts, Quality Fics





	Atonement

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO this was written for the nagamas gift exchange for @mookittens on tumblr, who requested dimitri with the prompt "haunted by the ghosts of his past"!
> 
> as you might be able to tell, i finished reading the atonement arc of higurashi and then immediately went and wrote this in a fugue state while listening to ["birth and death"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CLltCSDnY0&t=4s) on repeat. enjoy!

The night before the Kingdom is set to march for the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Dimitri has an unusual sort of dream.

Most nights, his sleep is fitful at best, either due to nightmares or his own obsessions keeping him up. He cannot afford to rest, nor does he deserve to. Peace only comes to him when he collapses from exhaustion, free of consciousness. Even then, he can practically hear Dedue’s worried voice, scolding him for working himself so hard, begging him to rest.

That’s what Dedue would say if he were alive. But he’s dead, and so his only request is for Dimitri to avenge him. If there’s no rest for the dead, then there should be none for the living, either. Dimitri knows that better than anyone.

So it comes as a surprise when, the next time he falls asleep, he finds himself not in darkness, not in fire. He cannot see nor smell any blood, cannot hear any tortured screams. No, instead he finds himself in a field on a sunny day, the warm summer breeze caressing his cheek.

He can tell right away that it’s a dream. He usually can’t, but Dimitri’s life hasn’t been this peaceful since before the Tragedy of Duscur. When was the last time he felt the sun on his face without thinking it was mocking him? When was the last time the light was comforting rather than harsh? It’s not real. Of course it’s not.

If he were a different sort of man, perhaps he’d be grateful for the respite from the nightmares. Dimitri is not grateful. He doesn’t deserve this, not even in his sleep.

And anyway, what gives? When was the last time Dimitri’s dreams were sweet? This isn’t right. None of this is right. What sort of trick is his subconscious playing on him?

Then he sees them. And he understands.

Not too far away, a group of children play in the flowers, laughing as they tackle each other and roll around. Their bodies are transparent; Dimitri can’t see them very clearly until the light shines a certain way. Just like Dedue. Just like his father, like his stepmother, like Glenn. Just like all the other ghosts.

If nothing else, he’s relieved that he hasn’t forgotten those children’s faces.

They were children from the Empire. In Dimitri’s mind, that was enough. They got in the way of his revenge; no, perhaps they were _essential_ to his revenge. He didn’t care either way. All he knew was that they were a threat to be eliminated just as cleanly as their parents. Imperial children grow into Imperial adults, after all, and Imperial adults become Imperial soldiers.

However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about those he’s killed—far from it. Just as he condemns killers and future killers as monsters, he condemns himself as one, and so the sight of those ghostly children nearly makes him curl into himself in disgust.

It’s strange. Sometimes he accepts his depravity—revels in it, even. After all, there’s no going back now; he’s past the point of no return, a shell of a man, living only to exact vengeance. Other times, though—times like now, times when he’s weak—his shoulders ache with the burden of carrying so many brutal deaths, and his hands itch with blood that will never wash away.

All at once, the children stop playing and pull themselves from the ground. There are four of them, three boys and a girl, and Dimitri grimaces at the thought of his own childhood.

One of the boys calls out to him.

“Hey! Hey, you!” he says with a wave and a toothy grin.

Dimitri frowns. Do they not recognize him? Perhaps they didn’t get a good look at their attacker before he cut them down in his agitated state.

“Yes, _you_ , mister,” the girl says. “The one who made us like this.”

 _Oh._ They know.

Dimitri bows his head and makes his way toward them. He won’t avoid their judgment. They have every right to hate him. They have every right to yearn for retribution.

Dimitri kneels so that he’s closer to their height, forcing himself to look each of them in the eyes. Just like he wants to look Edelgard in hers before he steals the light from them.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” the girl says, folding her arms over her chest. “Not like we could, even if we wanted to.”

“Hey, hey, what’s with the eyepatch?” one boy says. “Can I touch it?”

Another boy—a short, prickly-looking one—thumps him on the back of the head. Under different circumstances, Dimitri might have even laughed. But there’s nothing funny about being the reason that four children—and many more—are dead.

“Stop that,” the girl says, and slaps Dimitri’s cheek. It doesn’t hurt very much, but he can feel her frustration all the same. “Stop wallowing.”

Dimitri raises an eyebrow. Of course she can read his mind. This is a dream. “What are you…?”

“Don’t play dumb,” says the prickly boy. “All you do is think about dead people and then go and make more dead people. What kind of a life is that?”

It isn’t one. Dimitri knows that.

“So why don’t you fix it?” the girl says.

Dimitri shakes his head. “I can’t—I don’t deserve—”

The boy who asked about the eyepatch flashes a smile. “That’s quitting language,” he says. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? As long as you’re alive, you can make things right.”

“I _will_ make things right,” Dimitri says. “When I get that girl’s head, I’ll—”

“That’s not true,” says the boy who waved him over, speaking up for the first time since he approached the group. “It won’t end. It won’t end until you learn to live for yourself.”

_But how?_

How can he do something so selfish? He has no reason to live other than to exact the will of the dead. It’s the least he can do as someone who has had so many people die for him. Live for _himself_? How could he? How _dare_ he?

“You’re a good man, I think,” the girl says. “Despite everything. The fact that you think all that is proof. But you have to live in the present, not obsess over things from the past. Atone by making the world a better place.”

_Atone?_

Dimitri accepted long ago that he was unforgivable, a monster existing only to ease the pain of those he could not save. The possibility of atoning had never crossed his mind. How could he, after all, when he’s done such horrible things?

“That’s the _point_ , dummy,” the prickly boy says. “Nobody atones for doing nice things. The only people who have to atone are those who did bad things.”

“Yeah, and if you can’t make up for the bad things you did, then what’s the point?” the eyepatch boy adds. “Some people might never forgive you. But that’s okay, as long as you try to be a better person than you were yesterday.”

“I—” Dimitri starts, but his words run dry.

“Time’s up,” the first boy says grimly. “Just think on it, okay?”

Before Dimitri can form a response, the children disappear into the sunlight, and Dimitri wakes in his quarters at Garreg Mach, the first streams of sunrise cutting across the sky. Today, they march, and Dimitri will not hold back.

Somehow, that dream was more disconcerting than all his nightmares combined. Did the ghosts of those children really visit him in his sleep and tell him all those things? Or did his subconscious combine their faces with the words and personalities of others?

It has to have been the latter. The real children wouldn’t encourage him to live and to atone. They’d hate him, and understandably so. They’d call for his death…right? Or is that just what he thinks he deserves?

 _Atonement._ It’s a much less familiar concept to him than revenge. Revenge is what motivates base, loathsome people like himself. Atonement is something he could never achieve, not even in his wildest dreams.

Those kids sure were convincing, though.


End file.
